“I guess this is an earthquake,” I said to myself. It seemed to last a lot longer than others I had felt. But in reality, I had only been in one big earthquake, in Mexico City, years before. I had experienced a tremor or two since living in California. So, what did I know? Maybe they are usually this long and strong? It seemed incredibly intense, but I had nothing to compare it to. The Cabriolet kept driving, so I did too. I turned onto Frontage Road as planned, and felt oddly alone without a radio to tell me what was happening. Cars were still driving. Everything seemed normal…ish. I noticed cracks, more like giant fissures, in the road and water was gushing up through them. Is that the Bay squirting up onto the road? Does this happen after every earthquake? That is a lot of damage to repair every time this happens, I thought. As I got closer to the Bay Bridge, I started to sense that things were a little more extreme. Was it just me, or had everyone noticed there was something really wrong? I figured the toll booth attendant would tell me if it wasn’t safe to get on the bridge. I didn’t want to miss dance class! So, I plodded along and veered right toward the bridge.
Suddenly, to my right, was a man standing in front of his car, by the side of the freeway, with his hands on his head in disbelief. His car was flat on the ground, with its tires lying like donuts on a plate. His axel seemed to have split in half and his car was literally lying flat on the road. Did I mention the belly of his car was lying on the concrete?